i can’t handle the apples
every crisp shining vessel like a glowing chalice
raised in a toast ~ to the Cosmos that birthed us and leaves us always baffled
the shape of the apple tree pleasantly caressing my mind’s eye
as i lay dangling on branches amongst greenery i feel
safe and invisible with leaves concealing me
it fits like a glove, like i was made to be in this tree!
the thought of falling out not even possible
with all these branches and my four limbs and opposable thumbs
easy as it comes, from here to there and up the tree and down the trunk
and every apple so available, effortlessly plucked and bitten
juice runs through my grin
as i realize that every single one of these apples tastes
distinctly, perhaps radically different!
i revel at my own resistance to believe in the existence
of the novelty of every instant
but the evidence is insistent and i can’t ignore the stories i’ve heard
and what i’ve seen before
in past moments leading up to the present second
which may be unique but is yet a reflection
of all that will be and all that has been
just as sure as the words we speak are an echo of stories spoken
by sages and myths written by pen
ever hence, let us be well, let us dance
let us be sent to green pastures and alluvian vents
my speech remains in the present tense
as i manifest this moment shared with my friend
from the seats of this tree we can see further than we thought there was room for
we learned and OF COURSE there expands and there is always more
and i can’t explain it, but from this peak of perception
my third eye focuses and i can see farther than i can comprehend
the fruit tree cradles me like an infant, so carefully coddling me
i feel the intimately intertwined connection between this
beautiful branching planting flowering fruiting blooming creature
and these two upright outta-sight post-monkeys
developed across generations of interacting strings of genes
we’re all essentially the same basic machines
we just put our emphasis in different spaces
thrust our momentums to enter into different scenes
but with this gift of the mind and a small slice of time
for intro-outro-spection one can imagine trading places
and feel out the consciousness of another being
forget trying on someone’s shoes…
try on someone’s wings or whiskers or hooves!
or someone’s bark and branches
the idea of the fully conscious universe may seem romantic
but i think you’ll find the meaning of your life is always exactly where you plant it
your roots spreading out beneath the land as you scan it
we homo-sapiens have many great gifts
but the greatest of these may be language
the power to put words where you please
and through your placement bend the edges of reality
fold it into a pleasing shape like so much origami
so great is the power of poetry
evolutionarilly we’ve traded our prehensile tails for pensils…
and THIS TALE of coming to be
of dropping into consciousness like pebbles tossed to sea
of walking up out of the ocean & coming down from the trees
enumerating from this point of unity
we’ve written the stories of these monkeys and become at last human beings
freed at last to be constantly seeking
searching lurching ahead and always believing
spotting new complex connections and revealing synergies
forced to somehow make sense of what we see
thrust ever-forward into time from birth like being shot out of a cannon
at time more than we can fathom
as we try to capture our fleeting impressions
with our lexicographies: bugs in the trees, birds & bees, vegetables & meats
human or ape, everything on this earth blooms and creates
and has been created
by hidden forces we’ve been lifted up from the soil
to be returned to soil again and decay and fill the earth’s veins with oil
so it goes so it goes, nothing may remain
but for the moment, on this island-of-Now
we can enjoy being friends lounging in a tree for a day

written by Peter Hazen and dedicated to Jacob Wartell